


Simple little thing

by silveriris



Category: Gintama
Genre: Drabble, F/F, shoujo ai, tsukisachi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveriris/pseuds/silveriris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always comes uninvited, but this time something's different. / Tsukuyo x Sacchan; drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple little thing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Gintama is not mine.  
> A/N: Originally posed on my tumblr and fanfiction.net in 2013. This is a new edited (and hopefully improved) version.  
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but keep your hateful comments to yourself. I’ve had it with this fandom.

 

Sometimes she really hated this fake smile she had glued to her face whenever she wanted to pretend everything was alright. Tsukuyo nodded politely to an elderly woman who passed her on the street of Yoshiwara. After so many years she learnt to hide her emotions and deal with her problems all by herself; there was no need showing how upset she was, especially in public. A simple frown could provoke at least a dozen women to debate about the source of her problems, and Tsukuyo wanted to avoid this kind of situation. It would only make everything worse, that's for sure.

She just had a serious talk with Seita, despite not knowing how to talk with a teenager in a rebellious phase, and she felt more tired than after training with the Hyakka girls. Hinowa didn't ask her to do this but she didn't have to. Tsukuyo saw the look on her face when the older woman told her about problems she was having with Seita. Today he brought yet another note from his teacher about picking fights with other kids. Somehow both of them failed to noticed their little boy grew up. They should probably stop calling him 'boy'; it was a little hard to believe but he was a 'man' now, although Tsukuyo wasn't sure if she liked this change.

Tsukuyo walked to Hinowa who was sitting in front of the shop and drinking tea. Before the courtesan could bring herself to explain how everything went with Seita, the other woman spoke first.

“There's someone waiting for you upstairs.”

Hinowa's worried smile made Tsukuyo wonder who the hell paid her a visit. She wasn't expecting anyone... but then there was that _one person_ who had a habit of coming here uninvited. Tsukuyo frowned as she was walking up the stairs. She wasn't in the mood to deal with that woman's craziness right now. She walked into her room, ready to shoo the unexpected guest away. Tsukuyo wasn't even certain if she liked her; she was too noisy, annoying and loud, and she always...

Her nagging stopped abruptly when she saw a figure sitting by the window.  _Does she have a twin sister..?_ , Tsukuyo wondered for a second because the woman with a miserable look on her face couldn't possibly be Sarutobi Ayame. It was... unnatural to see her like this, worn out of energy, maybe even sad, although 'sad Sarutobi Ayame' was a concept Tsukuyo couldn't comprehend.

From the moment they met, the courtesan was amazed how bold the purple–haired kunoichi was. She was able to not only say out loud what Tsukuyo couldn't admit to herself, but to keep repeating it, loud and clear, with no shame, guilt or worry. Standing in her room, looking at the woman who seemed so _fragile_ , Tsukuyo suddenly felt unreal. It simply couldn't be happening.

For a moment Tsukuyo thought it was some stupid joke, maybe she's sulking because her whip or whatever broke. But then she looked again at Sarutobi's face, her big eyes full of so much sadness and misery, and realized that whatever happened, it most certainly wasn't a joke.

The blonde hesitated for a moment, then walked over and sat by the kunoichi's side. She took a deep breath; she already had one big talk today, she wasn't ready for another...

“You're a good person, Tsukki,” said Sacchan, head lowered, eyes fixed on the floor.

Tsukuyo's eyes widened in surprise; she resisted the sudden urge to grab Sarutobi by her shoulders, maybe slap her face a couple of times ( _it could help_ ), and shake so violently she'd turn into her natural crazy self. Instead, she sighed deeply.

“Not really, but thanks if ya thinks so...” she mumbled.

She heard Ayame's small chuckle, a distant echo of her usual loud laughter.

“Whatever's yer problem...” Tsukuyo began, carefully choosing her words, uncertain what exactly she should say in this situation. “You don't have to tell me if you don't wanna. But– If ya need someone, I'll listen.”

She was feeling nervous all of the sudden; maybe she should say something else? Maybe she wasn't clear enough? Too harsh? She didn't know how a girl talk should go, women of Hyakka weren't exactly the definition of femininity...

Tsukuyo felt Sarutobi's hand on hers, and the gentleness of this caress surprised her. She flinched, overwhelmed by this gesture that seemed a bit too intimate. Perhaps Sacchan didn't notice as she didn't say a word. She simply sat by the courtesan's side, gently holding her hand.

Sarutobi looked up. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” the courtesan shook her head; she didn’t have to lie, she truly did not mind even if it felt a bit silly, holding her hand, just like that.

They shared a small sad smile, forming something unspoken between them, a simple little thing Tsukuyo couldn't understand, not yet.

Then a minute later Sacchan rested her head on the blonde's shoulder and, for once, didn't say a thing about the scent of tobacco she hated so much. They stayed still; there was nothing to say, no need to ask questions and get answers, so they simply kept silent.

When Ayame whispered, “Thank you”, and squeezed her hand a little tighter, Tsukuyo looked away, feeling a faint blush spreading across her face. She closed her eyes, and let a small soft smile lift the corners of her lips.


End file.
